Christmas Covers
by DragonGrin - former TeenTypist
Summary: Hermione crept down the stairs in her stocking feet, careful to avoid the baubles hanging on the railing, not wanting to risk waking Harry and the sleeping Weasleys above. Her favorite Christmas present was waiting on the couch. 1-shot, DMHG, Dramione. Fluff.


**Author's Note:** 1-shot, Christmas Dramione fluff. They get a bit…handsy. You've been warned. Sorry for originally putting the wrong initials in the summary; maybe my subconscious wants me to write a Ginny/Draco story, but my conscious doesn't know how. Thanks to SmileSimplify for the correction.

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Hermione crept down the stairs in her stocking feet, careful to avoid the baubles hanging on the railing, not wanting to risk waking Harry and the sleeping Weasleys above. She skipped carefully over the third step from the bottom, knowing from many years of practice that it squeaked.

She could smell the remnants of the fire that had been lit earlier. The dimly glowing fairy lights on the tree were the only illumination now. Presents were crowded around the base of it—some more tidily wrapped than others—just waiting to be opened as soon as everyone was awake in the morning. She ignored the presents. There was something better waiting for her here, though it had taken quite a bit of coaxing to arrange.

Lying on the tattered old couch beneath several handmade quilts and blankets, was Hermione's favorite Christmas present…one she couldn't wait to unwrap.

Hardly making a sound, she crossed the room, her nightshirt skimming against her thighs. A bit of blonde was just visible sticking out of the blankets at one end. She carefully peeled back the covers and was met with stunning gray eyes and a smile. She laughed quietly. "I'm not quite as stealthy as I'd like to believe?"

"I haven't fallen asleep yet. I'd been hoping you'd come back down," he said, slithering one hand out from beneath the blankets and caressing her thigh. "Besides, I thought it might be best to sleep with one eye open. The Weasel was giving me an evil look at dinner." His voice was quiet and soft, like muffled velvet.

Hermione's lips parted slightly, but she did her best not to make any noise, just leaning into his touch. "He promised his mother he'd behave himself. I told her that if you weren't welcome here, I wouldn't be coming, and I think if I hadn't come, Harry wouldn't either, and that would have broken Ginny's heart."

"You're manipulative, aren't you?"

"It's one of the things you like about me. Now, move over, it's cold."

He looked her over one more time, from her socks up her bare legs, to the teasing hem of her shirt. He continued to follow the line of her hips and breasts upward to her face, and did have to agree—she did look cold. He sat up, making room for her on the couch, and threw the blankets back over the pair of them.

As soon as she was sitting beside him, Hermione turned to Draco, kissing him hard. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She'd been waiting to do that all day. He moaned softly in her mouth as she grazed his lips with her teeth and slipped her tongue in. She pulled back with a breathy chuckle and whispered in his ear, "Now, now, we have to be quiet." She carefully began to suck on his earlobe and let her breath brush against the wet skin, slowly working her way down his neck.

Draco would not be outdone however, and let his hand travel up her thigh to her side, cupping her breast through her shirt and pinching her nipple, making it harder than the cold had already done. He reveled in the sound of her gasp. "Now now, we have to be quiet," he echoed, smirking.

She licked her lips, suddenly finding her mouth dry. "Oh, you're not playing fair."

"I was a Slytherin. We don't play fair. We play to win," he reminded her. He let his hand slide down her body again, resting it on her thigh, brushing his thumb over her skin.

She started to unbutton his pajama top—silk, knowing him—and he grabbed her hand, kissing her palm. With his other hand, he slipped his fingers up the bottom of her nightshirt, his hand on her skin. He cupped her breast in his hand again—this time with no fabric between them— and worked his fingers over it. She gave up on kissing his neck, murmuring softly against it instead, her breathing shallow. A clock somewhere chimed midnight.

"Happy Christmas," he whispered to her.

"Happy Christmas," she echoed.

His hand slid down to rest on her hip again. They sat there in the dark for a while longer, enjoying the closeness of each other, before Hermione finally said she had to go back upstairs. Draco was disappointed to see her leave.

"Next Christmas, we ought to go to the Manor. It's big enough that we wouldn't have to worry about anyone catching us," he pointed out.

"But where's the fun in that?" she grinned.

Draco watched her go back up the stairs and then settled himself back down on the couch to attempt to sleep. Salazar, how was he ever supposed to sleep now?

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 **Author's Note:** Not something I usually post on here, so I hope you like it.


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